


enough is enough

by LydiaOfNarnia



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, M/M, Speirs Has A Big Mouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 05:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11914404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaOfNarnia/pseuds/LydiaOfNarnia
Summary: For some reason, Ron is wearing his shirt on his head, and his shoe is on the table. There is an empty bottle in one fist, and a handful of cards in the other.Carwood fights the urge to laugh, and loses.





	enough is enough

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, the characters in this fic are based off of their fictional portrayals from the miniseries Band of Brothers, and I mean no disrespect to the real-life veterans!
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [renelemaires](http://renelemaires.tumblr.com/)!

It is impossible to swallow down the urge to laugh.

Of all the things Carwood thought he would be walking into, the sight of Ron and his friends gathered around the table, hooting raucously and wearing their shirts over their heads instead of on their bodies.

This is certainly an unusual thing to stumble upon, though not unexpected. Whenever Nix and Harry get together with alcohol, there’s bound to be trouble. Ron is never above getting sucked into their mischief when the opportunity arises. Carwood has no clue what’s going on right now, but he’s just glad everyone is still sitting and that nothing is on fire.

He clears his throat, not sure whether or not he wants to interrupt. No one notices him – no one except Ron, who at this point is so attuned to Carwood’s presence that he would feel it if his boyfriend stubbed his toe from the other side of the world. Ron’s head shoots up, and his already-shining eyes get a bit brighter when they land on Carwood.

“There you are,” he exclaims, in a voice far too loud and eager to belong to a sober Ron Speirs. “Car! Bring your pretty little butt over here. I wanna show you off.”

“Little?” Harry echoes, and Carwood is painfully aware of the entire room’s attention on his rear as he steps up to Ron’s side. “You sure about that, Sparky?”

“Don’t,” is all Ron says at the nickname; Harry just flashes his familiar shameless smirk. When strong arms twine around Carwood’s waist, he allows himself to be tugged into Ron’s lap. He’s bemused but tolerant – a common feeling among these three when they get up to no good.

“This.” Ron gives him a tiny shake, accidentally cupping Carwood’s crotch in the process. “He. You. The best person I have ever met, and I don’t know how he does it. He’s so… so…”

“Lip’s everything at once,” Nixon contributes over the rim of his cup. 

Ron nods with enthusiasm that would be cute, if his breath didn’t reel of whiskey. “He’s so soft. Like a teddy bear. I can hug him so well, he’s great. Just great. And he’s kind. People are kind, you know that? But not like him. No one is like him. He’s incredible. You’re incredible.” He presses a kiss into Carwood’s shoulder. “Incredible.”

By this point, Carwood’s face is flushed enough to heat the entire room. Harry catches his eye and snickers across the table. 

Nixon, busy pouring himself another whiskey, shakes his head with a fond smile playing on his lips. “Tell us something we don’t know, buddy.”

“He’s a screamer,” Ron replies, deadpan. Carwood goes stiff.

Slowly, he reaches a hand over. Three drunken pairs of eyes watch until it claps down over Ron’s mouth and tilts his head back until he is looking up instead of at his friends.

“Ron,” he says in a calm voice. “I think you’ve had enough to drink.”

Ron is quiet for a long moment before he answers, “I think you’re right.”

With great care, Carwood pulls his boyfriend’s shirt back over his head, adjusting it to cover up his torso once more. He takes Ron’s right shoe, which for some reason is sitting on the table, and puts it back on his foot. Then he helps his drunken boyfriend out of his chair.

“Fellas,” he says, offering their friends a genial smile. “Goodnight.”

Neither one knows what to say, and Carwood gets the sense they’re kind of afraid to say anything at all. This is fine with him.

“Night, Lip,” someone calls over his shoulder once he’s already out of the room. Carwood nods, but doesn’t look back. When Ron gets deep into the bottle, his balance gets shot. He’s fine as long as he’s sitting, but as soon as he’s on his feet he’s ready to topple over and not get up again. Carwood has no intention of letting him do this until they get to the bedroom.

“You,” he hisses into Ron’s ear, “are _impossible.”_

Ron turns his head towards him. His cheeks are flushed a bright red, and stray strands of chair cling to his forehead. He flashes a smile that is all boyish charm, and Carwood feels his irritation melt away.

(A part of him hates how Ron can do that so easily, but another part loves him for it just as much.)

“Everything I said was true,” Ron whispers. His voice is soft, an undercurrent of something gentle in his tone.

Carwood shakes his head and continues leading him down the hallway.


End file.
